


"There’s something in the silence I never used to feel"

by the_milky_way



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Future, Growing Up, M/M, Past, Pretending, Sam/Dean Mini-Bang Challenge 2011, Seasons, Stanford Era, Young!Dean, Young!Sam, lj challenge, present, re-post
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 07:10:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_milky_way/pseuds/the_milky_way
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s only ever known Sam. Sam has always been there. It’s the times Dean has to pretend, when he has to tell people he doesn’t know Sam or when they have to pretend not to be brothers that Dean actually thinks about it. Sam’s the little brother, the best friend and in the end, the only one Dean wants. But it’s only when they pretend that Dean allows himself to think about the last one of these facts. Sam is Dean’s entire world, he just doesn’t know if he’s Sam’s as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"There’s something in the silence I never used to feel"

**Author's Note:**

> This was writtn for the Sam/Dean Minibang at [](http://samdean-otp.livejournal.com/profile)[**samdean_otp**](http://samdean-otp.livejournal.com/) and also fulfills the prompts of "spring", "winter","past", "future" and "dawn" on my [Dean Winchester: A Year to Survive](http://icebear-cw.livejournal.com/34017.html#cutid1) table at [](http://spn-30snapshots.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://spn-30snapshots.livejournal.com/)**spn_30snapshots**.
> 
> The titel is gratiously taken from Westlife's "The Difference in me".
> 
> **Thank you** so much [](http://silverraven.livejournal.com/profile)[**silverraven**](http://silverraven.livejournal.com/) for the beta sevices and suggestions.  
>  **Thanks** to [](http://akintay.livejournal.com/profile)[**akintay**](http://akintay.livejournal.com/) for looking everything over. You guys have been a great help.
> 
> Check out [](http://angelicfoodcake.livejournal.com/profile)[**angelicfoodcake**](http://angelicfoodcake.livejournal.com/)'s Art for this story because it's awesome. :) Thanks so much for choosing my story and creating art for it.  
> [Art Masterpost](http://angelicfoodcake.livejournal.com/55497.html)

In the past – 1988

 

When Sam’s born Dean thinks for a second that no one will see him anymore. Sam is so tiny, so cute and so new that Dean fears he’ll be mom’s and dad’s whole focus. He’s wrong, of course, but that doesn’t mean his four-year-old mind thinks that far ahead.

But then Sam is nothing like Dean imagined. He’s quiet most of the time, tears up when Dad tries to hold him for longer than five minutes and actually cries a little when Mom turns him so that he can’t see Dean.

It takes a month or two before Dean realizes that Sam’s only ever really looking at him. He tells Mom about it, smiles all wide and happy when she says it’s true and doesn’t know why she looks sad about it.

Dean thinks it’s great.

Sam’s fussing a lot, only calms down when Dean crawls into the crib with him and then latches tiny fingers onto Dean’s pyjamas when he’s close enough. It doesn’t take long for Dean to solely concentrate on Sam as well, so much so that Dad has to drag him away screaming and kicking when Sammy has a doctor’s appointment or when he needs to go himself. Kindergarten feels like a whole different world and Dean hates it. There’s no Sammy.

Dean hates being away from his brother, hates when he can’t see how Sam’s doing or hear what he’s blubbering about. Mom gives up putting him back to bed after Dean’s managed to crawl in with Sammy three times in one night. Both of them sleep better when they are close.

After the fire, after Mom is gone, Sammy is the only reason why Dean doesn’t hide crying. He feels lost and lonely without Mom and Dad being so strange. So Sam is the one thing that Dean likes during these days and months afterwards.

Sam is his to take care of, especially now that Dad can’t really do it. Sam is Dean’s little brother and he’ll do everything, anything really, to keep him safe and well.

It never really changes.

Sam does change though. He grows up, doesn’t need Dean as much anymore and Dean learns that he might be the only one of them having created a whole life around just one person.

 

***

 

Sam’s five when they have to pretend not to know each other for the first time.

Dad’s stupid plan. It’s one of the first times Dean’s ever thought about objecting Dad and he almost did. But Dad just bundled them up and put them in the car without Dean really having the chance to say anything.

“If anybody asks, you don’t know Sam,” is what Dad says, looking into the review mirror for a second, eyes intent and Dean would say cold but then flinches a little when Dad blinks and there’s worry.

“I know you don’t like it, kiddo. But... this case is complicated. And if someone finds out, it’s better they take Sammy and don’t connect him to us.” Dad frowns and then just looks back at the street in front of them.

Later, Dean will always remember thinking that no one will take Sammy away from him and if they dared, he’d fight them. Even then he knows that chances are if someone found out they’d take Sammy anyway, no matter if Sam’s connected to them or not. They’d take Dean then as well and maybe let them be together.

The sun’s already up when they reach the town Dad’s been doing research in for the last few days and Dean knows where he’s taking them. Sam loves the playground near the little park and Dean knows it’s safe. No loose boards or bare nails, no glass in the sandbox or any kind of animals.

Dad drops him off there, tells Sammy to be good and that they’ll be back in no time. Dean almost doesn’t leave, has to look away from Sam’s desperate eyes and lets himself be dragged towards the point where Dad wants him to hide out.

“He’ll be fine, Dean.” Dad doesn’t sound as convinced as Dean knows he should. Maybe Dad isn’t liking this any more than Dean. By the time Dean’s crouched behind an oak tree not far from the sandbox, it’s clouded over and a slight drizzled has started up.

He can’t help but peer around the tree trunk to watch Sammy there. He’s still doing what Dad told him, still scoops out the area and watches for anything that might be suspicious. Dad never told him what’s going on but Dean thinks he has to do with children. It makes him shiver, thinking about Sam being in danger. And more than once Dean just wants to jump up, run over and keep Sam close.

It’s not like they could have left him in the motel room but Dean doesn’t like the feeling that Sam might be bait and that Dad’s really risking that. He doesn’t like it one bit.

After the fourth time Dad catches him looking at Sam, Dean tells himself to stop being stupid and man up. He manages ten minutes without so much as a cursory glance towards his brother.

The next time Dean dares to really look again, Sam’s sitting in the sandbox, head hanging, sniffling low and dejected. Little fingers digging into the sand but not really doing anything with it.

Dean can see Sam shivering slightly even though his jacket is new and warm. It’s probably more the fact that he can’t see Dean or Dad. Sam tries to act all grown up and Dean feels his heart ache a little at seeing how his little brother fails. But Sam’s only five and Dean wants to bundle him up and let him have the hot chocolate he’s been asking for since yesterday.

Dean kind of instinctively knows that this level of protectiveness isn’t normal but then their lives aren’t normal either. He knows that he doesn’t have to like every plan his dad comes up with, especially not one that leaves Sammy all alone and unprotected in the middle of an empty playground. After the Shtriga, Dean had sworn to himself to never let Sam out of his sight again and he won’t, no matter what.

His nose twitches, feels cold and the rain drops are starting to get bigger, heavier. Dean hopes they won’t have to be there much longer.

Dad’s gone for a minute and Dean tries not to panic. He’s trained better than that, keeps his eyes on the streets around the park, then back to Sammy. Then he sees Dad in the corner of his eye when he turns his head just right. The sigh of relief is barely audible and Dean sags against the tree trunk a little.

He hates feeling like this. Helplessness is something he’s never learned how to deal with and it makes him feel like he can’t protect Sam properly. It’s not a feeling he likes very much. Pushing his hands into the jacket pockets, Dean tries to warm his fingers up a little. They connect with one of Sam’s candy wrappers and Dean grins. There’s still one candy left and he knows he’ll give it to Sam as soon as this is over.

He takes another look around. The streets are almost empty, it’s too early in the day for a lot of people and Dean wonders what those who do come by think about Sam, playing alone on an empty playground with seemingly no adult around.

It’s just for a second – as long as it takes to wipe rain water out of his eyes - that Dean’s not looking. Just a second and suddenly Sam’s not alone anymore. Two boys, taller than Sammy, obviously older, are standing over him in the sandbox. Dean growls. He’s not supposed to leave his position, has to signal Dad when he sees something, but he can’t just sit there and watch.

Dean knows what’s going to happen next, has seen the look on those boys faces way too often already. And Sam’s there alone with no one to protect him. Sam’s sniffles seem louder now, Dean doesn’t have to strain to hear them. With the first sob and the sound of Sammy hitting the sand, Dean’s up and running, not thinking about Dad’s stupid plan anymore.

It’s reckless, he knows but Sam’s more important now. For a second he sees Dad at the other side of the playground but Dad’s not even watching it, is occupied with a guy across the street. Dean huffs, feeling strange and maybe a little angry at Dad.

It takes less than five seconds and he’s right next to Sammy.

Sammy, who’s now lying in the sand, wide-eyed and tears streaking down his face. One of the bigger boys has shoved him, and grabbed the miniature Impala Sammy loves so much. Dean’s nicked it from a gas station three states over because he could see how much Sam had wanted it.

It’s like a fuse, seeing Sammy like this and the toy not with its right owner.

“Give it back,” Dean says, trying to sound calm and grown up, like Dad when he wants to be menacing. Being like Dad always helps in situations like this. Dean hates that he can’t help Sammy up but facing the danger is more important now.

The two boys blink against the rain, look surprised but don’t make a move to hand the toy car back to Sam. Dean takes a step closer, draws up his height and hopes they’ll be impressed. One of the boys giggles a bit, clearly not sure how to handle this situation and Dean silently crows in triumph.

“Why are you helping this baby?” The one holding the toy asks, sneers even and Dean hears Sammy shuffling a little, getting up from the wet sand. A second later, small hands grab the hem of Dean’s jacket and hold on.

His little brother is trying to be brave but uses the lesson Dad taught him over and over again - hide behind Dean if possible. Dean almost smiles when he feels Sammy’s hand now clutching the back of his jacket, can imagine him peeking out around Dean and glaring at the boys. Dean’s pretty sure Sammy is trying hard not to throw a fit and draw attention, but that car means a lot to his little brother .

“He’s not a baby. Give the car back now… Please.” Dean’s using politeness the way Dad does when he wants to intimidate people – sure it’ll probably be lost on the boys but it’s worth a try. One of them, the one not holding the toy, takes a step back, tries to take cues from his friend about what to do now.

“What? He your baby brother or something? Got nothing better to do than baby-sit? Loser.”

Dean opens his mouth, is about to say that ‘yes, Sammy is and he’ll do everything to get the car back for his little brother’ when Sam surprises the hell out of everyone. He slips out from behind Dean, takes a brave step towards the boys and holds his hand out, like he does when Dean’s rummaging in the Lucky Charms box for the treat.

“He’s my best friend. That is my car. Could I have it back, please?” Sam’s trying to match Dean’s tone of politeness but fails spectacularly, he sounds so sincere that Dean actually grins a little. His brother is kinda awesome even if he can be a little pain in the ass sometimes.

Sammy’s still standing there, in the rain, holding out his hand and trying to be brave, sniffles and tears forgotten. Dean’s proud of him. The two boys look at each other and for a moment Dean thinks he might have to fight them for the toy. Then the Impala is dropped into the wet sand.

Sammy scrambles for it when he sees the two bullies retreating, grabs it and is back behind Dean in under a second. That’s all Sammy can muster up in braveness and Dean thinks it’s enough for one day.

“Okay… okay. Play with the baby, man. Your choice.”

“Yes. My choice, my best friend.” Dean says, loud and clear. He looks at the boys and waits until they are long gone before he turns to Sam.

“You okay, Sammy? Hurt? Did they hit you?” Dean’s letting his hands roam and then hover over Sam’s shoulders, trying to figure out if his brother really is okay. Then Sam nods, slow and sure.

“Am fine, Dean.”

Sam’s looking at him now, still wide-eyed but with a huge smile on his face. The black toy car clutched in his small hands and floppy brown hair clinging wetly to his skin. Sammy looks like a little innocent puppy just then. A happy puppy.

Dean hugs him close for a second and then settles down on the wooden bench right next to the sandbox, a little under another tree, still with leaves on. It’ll shield them from the rain a little.

They stay there and wait for Dad to get them. It takes another hour and Sammy wheedles Dean into playing with him.

So they sit, play with the Impala and build sand forts and castles. It’s been a while since Dean forgot everything around him while playing. Dad doesn’t say a single word when he picks them up and has to shout three times before they finally hear him. For some reason Dad doesn’t look angry when Dean dares to glance at him, just sad.

Dean never asks if Dad solved the case but they're leaving town the same evening.

Later, in the backseat, on the highway miles away from the playground, Sam lies curled up against Dean. The cup that once was filled with hot chocolate is abandoned on the far side of the seat. Dad had relented once he’d seen Sammy’s wet hair and blue lips. And Dad hadn’t commented on Dean crawling into the backseat just after Sam, too occupied with whoever he was on the phone with.

Sam’s playing with the miniature Impala now, making low vroom noises and letting it drive up and down Dean’s thigh. Dean feels good about how he handled the situation earlier, proud even that he could dissolve it without fists and scaring Sammy. He still hopes so very hard Dad hadn’t seen him leaving his position. But Dad hasn’t said a single word, only frowned at Sam’s happy little smile earlier and then had smiled as well.

The landscape sort of just wooshes by; Dean isn’t really seeing it through the twilight but he still looks out the window. When he feels a tug at his shirt, it’s hard to look away from the hypnotizing way of the world outside.

“Dean?” Sam almost whispers and it always sets Dean on edge. It’s either that he’s afraid of something, has done something he knows he isn’t supposed to do or doesn’t feel safe to say things out loud.

“Yeah, Sammy?” Dean looks down at his brother, smiles slightly when he sees Sam looking back, cheeks rosy and eyes about to droop shut. Sam’s been awake for way too long today.

“I like you as a best friend. Better than brothers. Best friends… you cho… choose those.” He says it with a little nod of his head and Dean’s heart aches again. Because Sam’s right, you can’t choose family but Dean’s always thought that family is the most important thing. Sam, though, Sam thinks a best friend is the greatest thing on earth, he’s never had one and now Dean gave that to him.

Dean will do hell to take it away again. Let Sam pretend not to be brothers for a while. It can’t hurt and Dean is, after all, his best friend.

So Dean just pulls Sam a little closer, arm wrapped around small shoulders, and nods. “Yeah, Sammy. Best friends are cool. I’ll be yours if you want me to.”

“’Course,” is mumbled through a yawn and Sam’s head sags against Dean’s shoulder. Fast asleep , his little brother snuggles even closer. Dean lets him. Sam’s his best friend as well.

Right then Dean’s sure that it will always stay like that.

 

***

 

The spring of 1997

 

They are somewhere in Colorado - Dean has stopped bothering with learning all the town’s names, only ever glances at the current school books with a library stamp if he needs to know. They’ve been here for months now and it seems like Sam will be able to close out the school year here.

It’s more about school these days, about papers and homework and finding friends. Dean’s never seen anything good in getting attached to places that are only temporary but Sam has always looked for something constant. For years, Dean thought that was him. The constant in Sam’s life. But those days seem to be over.

And Dean’s not sure he likes it.

Sam’s now part of some hunts, when they need a good cover story or can’t leave him alone for weeks on end. Dad always makes sure that Sam stays out of the action but trains him just as hard as Dean.

There have been several occasions where they had to pretend not to know each other, not to be related, not to be best friends. Sometimes it’s hard to stay in the role, sometimes it’s the easiest thing Dean has done. Pretending – especially when he knows Sam doesn’t even want to be there, be part of the hunt – is one way to still think things are okay.

Sam hates it, doesn’t want to be anybody else but himself. Even more so lately. And it’s not just about teenage hormones. There more Dean thinks about it, tries to figure out the person Sam’s becoming, the more he gets lost. Almost as lost as Sam sometimes seems to be.

Some days, Dean isn’t even sure they are best friends anymore. They’ll always be brothers, none of them can change that. But friends, that’s a whole different sphere and Dean feels like he’s losing contact to it.

They used to talk, used to tell secrets, confide in the other and it would all stay between them. Now, Sam tries to hide, tries to keep Dean out, not pushing him away exactly but still keeping a certain distance.

Sam is this mysterious being now. One Dean can’t read as easily as he used to.

Things between Dad and Sam have been rocky lately, Dean caught between the lines and never sure what to say anymore. Words are said, things done and it ends up in arguments, fights even, more often than not. Sometimes Dean’s glad he can flee to school to get away from it all. And Dean doesn’t even like school that much.

Monroe High School would have been like any other High School Dean had attended if it wasn’t for the fact that it was a combined school. Junior High and High School in one, meaning Dean sees Sam every day.

They pass each other in the hallways and see each other during lunch. The way Sam is ignoring Dean though, no one has really figured out they are brothers. No one seems to have a clue that they are related, no one finds it strange that two new guys have the same name. Pretending is easy here – like a scam that isn’t really one - they don’t have the same social circles and Dean’s sometimes thinks it’s his fault.

Sam is trying to be independent, trying to do things on his own. It’s the way Dean – and Dad – have raised him. But Sam is pushing and Dean barely has a chance to keep standing.

It’s been going on for as long as they’ve been here, maybe started the second day of school, after Dean refused to drive Sam because the little shit had been bitchy and grumpy as hell. Sam has been walking to school ever since and Dean tries not to freak out too much over it.

Dean is kind of popular, which might have something to do with the car and the fact that he seems to have very liberal parents. No one has to know that Dad’s not there much and that Dean has to look after his baby brother. His popularity might also be connected to his job at Joe’s Dinner and drinks for half the price if Joe’s in a good mood and lets Dean tend the counter.

Sam, though, is living in a completely different world, does Drama Club and study groups, has friends that are barely allowed to stay out after dark, which isn’t very long seeing as it’s still spring. Even though Sam has managed to get into advanced courses, spending time with High School kids, he keeps to his own age group.

Sometimes, when Dean’s all too aware that he’s wrapped up in a life that isn’t his own and has never learned how to stay away, Dean pretends to be less attached. Tries to and always, always fails. Just the thought of it, having a life without Sam’s constant presence makes Dean a little queasy. He’s not sure what it means, why he can’t stand to think about Sam being gone – like when he talks about college and Dean has to hold back so that he won’t snap at Sam.

Dean adds those feelings to the long list of things on the freak-column of the equation.

Most of the time though, they are busy with school life, Sam with his friends and Dean doing what he does best, chasing skirt and annoying the hell out of the local jocks. It’s fun and less likely to land him in a hospital or anywhere near a prison cell. Okay, so Dean’s kinda bored here and hates that Dad’s not taking him along.

On a Friday in late April, Dean finally manages to get Belinda Matthews to agree to a date. He isn’t really sure why he wanted that so badly but he’s been bored out of his mind with Dad gone and Sammy being a prissy teenager.

Belinda is not the sharpest tool around but she makes him laugh, mostly in a good way. He can overlook the instances where he wants to roll his eyes and ask how someone so pretty can be that stupid.

She’s a walking, talking cliché. Cheerleader, in the in-crowd, hot on gossip and always, always touching up her make-up. Dean usually doesn’t go for that kind of shallow but she’s pretty and Dean’s been really, really bored. Also, trying not to think about the things on his mind that have no right to be there.

They’ve been hanging out under the bleachers for a few weeks, him, Belinda and some of their mutual friends, skipping classes and generally behaving like the idiotic High School kids that they are. Dean knows better than this but for once in his life he doesn’t really care. He feels good like this.

There might be pot involved some of the days, wandering hands and soft lips on warm skin – everyone would feel good about that.

Sam only ever scowls at him, never saying a word. Dean can see that something is brewing inside his little brother and knows it will explode out of him one day.

On that Friday, Sam doesn’t seem to be able to hold back any longer. Dean has been waiting for it and gets comfortable on the couch when Sam stops pretending to be doing his homework and openly stares at Dean.

The TV is running but Dean has no idea what’s on, has only had one bottle of beer and waits for Belinda to show up. There’s still time, a little over an hour and Sam has already announced he’ll be at a friend’s place later on. Right now though, Sam seems to be working up to something, he’s turned half in his chair, body angled towards Dean but eyes still on his notebook.

His attention is on Dean though, fully and completely.

It’s the first time in weeks and Dean suddenly realizes how much he’s missed it. He feels a little off-kilter, has to take a deep breath before he can muster up the courage to engage in a staring match.

Sam has grown a lot these last few months. Only now, Dean notices it. He looks less like a child, more and more like the man he will be one day. Defined cheekbones, free of the baby fat they used to hold for so long, longer limbs that seem to be unable to hold still.

His jeans show a little calf and Dean swallows. The pants will be too short very soon and the t-shirt doesn’t look any better. Looking worn but soft, it hangs from Sam’s shoulders but clings just in the right places. Dean doesn’t want to look and still has his eyes clued to the soft dip of hips where the shirt is riding up.

Dean has a feeling that one day Sam will tower over him, he’s already taller than Dean was at that age.

He stomps hard on those thoughts, very hard, doesn’t even dare to imagine just one little glimpse of how Sam would look like, taller, broader, stronger, towering over him. It’s not the place and not the time… and it will never be.

Dean only allows himself to be that sick in the darkness of his own mind. It will never come out, won’t be allowed to, not if Dean can prevent it.

Sam sighs, looks resigned and goes back to doodling in his notebook. He looks older than he is and Dean knows it’s partly his fault. He would have done everything to leave Sam out of the family business. There was no way around it though.

His little brother looks irritated and Dean wants to know what his problem is, what the problem has been for months now. Because this is not new. Sam’s been distant for a while now and Dean knows it’s not just about the one refused ride. There’s more to it.

Sam’s voice makes him jump a little, not much but Dean feels embarrassed nonetheless.  
“I don’t get you.”

And that makes it so much clearer… not. Dean frowns, looks at Sam and shrugs. He’s got nothing.

“I mean, I know you aren’t dumb and you usually don’t act it. But this time kinda takes the cake.” Sam’s mumbling, not really speaking up and it’s Dean’s first clue that Sam’s embarrassed for some reason. The second clue is the slight blush staining his brother’s cheeks.

It’s not as adorable as Dean thinks but his brain won’t shut up about it.

“What exactly are you talking about here, Sammy?” Because really, Dean has no idea.

“It’s Sam.”

And yes, that isn’t new either, doesn’t mean Dean has to hear it. It’s Sammy and it will always be, no matter how big and tall his brother will be in the future. It’s Dean’s right as a big brother to use childhood nicknames until the end of time. So he just shrugs when Sam glares, and grins.

Sam’s fiddling with the pencil now, not really doing anything with it. The rotating motions remind Dean of how Sam handles knives and how that always makes Dean swallow and look away.

“I don’t get why you hang out with her. She’s just plain dumb. Have you heard what she said about history, how it’s over and done with and that there is no need to talk about it? God, Dean, even you and your insatiable libido can do better than that.” Sam’s on a roll, huffy and bitchy like Dean hasn’t seen him in a while.

His stomach rolls a little at the thought that he might not have imagined all those annoyed – jealous – looks Sam has been sending him whenever Belinda was anywhere close. Dean’s not beyond hoping it’s jealousy and then feels sick all over again.

“It’s not her brains I want, if you know what I mean.” Dean can’t help it, he smirks and almost laughs out loud when the bitchface of epic re-appears tenfold. It’s just so easy to rile Sam up these days.

“You’re a pig,” Sam huffs again, all the little brother Dean knows and loves to annoy.

He misses this Sammy.

Sometimes it’s like this part of his brother is gone.

But then there are evenings curled up together on the old ratty couch, watching shitty horror movies and mocking the hell out of urban legends. There is Sam, sleepy in the morning, trusting Dean to pack his lunch and get him going. There’s Sam being so engrossed in homework that he forgets everything else. And then, then there is this Sam, the one that’s a pain in the ass and getting on Dean’s nerves.

All those Sams are better than the distant one Dean’s been dealing with lately.

“Really, just a pig.”

Dean blinks against the setting sun low in the sky, sometimes the lack of curtains is annoying, and shrugs. What can he say to that? It’s not like he doesn’t know what Sam thinks of him and his conquests. If Sam knew that Dean’s actually the least promiscuous guy around, well, he wouldn’t believe it anyway.

“Just let me have my fun, dude. It’s Friday and I actually want to go out. You should, too. And don’t give me that look, I know it’s a study group and not just a friend you’re going to later. Homework can wait for a day or two.”

Dean knows it’s the wrong thing to say. For as long as Sam has been going to school, homework was always done before the weekend. Dean knows this. Sam knows that Dean knows it. It’s still one of the few things Sam really gets bitchy about.

Not so much this time. It throws Dean a little, thinks there is more missing between them than he actually thought. It makes his chest constrict a little, like something is going on and he’s completely missing it.

Sam looks at him, eyes more a tilted line, color almost invisible.

“She’s just not the right one for you.” It’s said so low that Dean almost doesn’t hear all of it.

For a second he doesn’t know what to say, fumbles for words and just barely refrains from asking if Sam knows who is then.

But he doesn’t.

It’s not something that should ever be a topic between them because for some reason Dean just knows Sam would answer truthfully. And he’s just not ready for that kind of conversation. Not when he’s desperately trying not to even think about it.

Dean’s not as oblivious or caught up in his own dark mind as Sam thinks him to be. Of course he’s caught the looks, the way Sam sometimes can’t get himself out of the daze. But then there is the distance, the way Sam’s pulling out of Dean’s reach. And Dean just has no clue what it all means. But he sees it nonetheless.

There’s no way he’ll let them be this fucked up, let them ruin their lives before Sam’s has even really started. It’s his responsibility and Dean will make sure it stays this way. This is on him and he’ll do everything to let Sam have a ‘normal’ life. It’s enough when one of them is fucked beyond salvation.

“It’s just a fun night out, Sammy. I’m not gonna propose.” Dean turns back towards the TV, chucks the last of his beer and waits for Sam to say more. It never comes and when Dean looks back towards the kitchen table, Sam’s busy gathering his things.

It leaves Dean floundering, speechless for a moment even. He’d been prepared for a fight the way Sam had been building up to it. And now, nothing. It’s like the spotlight has been taken off of Dean and Dean’s left behind cold and lost.

“You’ll have the house for yourself tonight. Have fun.” Sam says before he vanishes into his room and suddenly Dean’s not sure that this evening will be anything close to fun. He’s not feeling it right now.

\---

 

Sam doesn’t come out of his room for the rest of the evening and then Belinda is there. Dean gets into the mood fast after that, forgets Sam for a while and tries to enjoy her hands on his thigh.

Her lips are on his neck, hands wandering and Dean actually enjoys it. He knows they won’t take it any further, there is a party to attend later and Dean actually plans on getting so drunk that not even Belinda and her awesome boobs will make him get it up.

Belinda’s about to settle against his side to suck a good and nice hickey into his skin when the front door bangs open. Dean jumps, curses himself for getting so lost in thoughts that he didn’t even hear someone approaching the house. Anyone coming close could be heard on the gravel and Dean always, always listened to the outside world. Only Sam has Dean so wrapped around these days that Dean’s slacking off when it comes to vigilance.

Sam’s there, standing in the door, looking flushed and sort of embarrassed. It’s then that Dean realizes the wind going outside and how Sam’s turned the wrong way, as if he was about to leave and not come in.

Dean blinks, notices how Sam’s not looking at either of them, is shuffling his feet awkwardly and tries to hide his blushing face from Dean.

“Sammy?” It’s all Dean can say right then. There is nothing else on his mind and that actually says a lot about his state of mind. He has a hot girl plastered all over him and all he can think is ‘Sammy’. It’s kinda sad and really pathetic.

Belinda moves, digs her knee just this close to his crotch and Dean suppresses a hiss. This is so not comfortable. Arms slide out from under a warm body and Dean manages to extract himself long enough to actually really look at Sam.

His little brother looks like the world just ended and Dean has no idea why. Sure, he doesn’t like Belinda all that much but that’s not really a reason to look like Sam does, all pale and somewhat horrified. Sam looks like he saw a ghost and that’s not a good look on someone who should be used to seeing ghosts.

“Sorry… just the wind and… I… sorry,” Sam mumbles, but Dean can hear him loud and clear. Belinda huffs next to him, straightens her shirt which somehow had been pushed up so much that her bra is visible.

“Who is he?” She sneers with disdain and Dean wants to smack her. It’s the first time in his life that he actually wants to do that to a girl and he flinches a little. It’s just the way she’s looking at Sam that sets him on edge.

“Sam,” Dean says, as if it explains everything and for him, it does. For Sam, it does as well. There’s a slight smile curving up red bitten lips and Dean wants to get up and hug him close. The urge to do just that is so sudden, so violently there that Dean shivers.

Belinda takes it the wrong way. She looks almost disgusted, like Sam’s something at the sole of her designer shoes (which are cheap imitations, even Dean can tell that), blinks her long eyelashes and turns up her nose.

“Dean… what? Oh come on, don’t tell me you have to watch your little brother tonight. That’s so uncool. I know. I have to do it too, every other weekend. Makes me feel like such a loser,” Belinda says and Dean cringes at the high pitched quality of her voice.

Sam’s just standing there, unmoving. And Dean just looks. Sam has changed, looks more like he wants to go out now than he did before. Dark shirt tight around skinny shoulders, plastered against a smooth chest, jeans hanging low on narrow hips. Dean’s never seen his brother like that, not in this kind of clothes.

There’s something in the air, something that might snap now, something that has been there for a while. Dean’s not thinking about it. He moves again, further away from Belinda, ready to defend his coolness and how Sam’s not that bad as a little brother, is searching for the right words, doesn’t want to hurt Sam.

Only, Sam’s faster.

“I’m not his brother. He’s just helping me out… With school. Forgot my book.” With that, Sam grabs one of Dean’s auto-shop handbooks that’s lying on the rickety side table and shrugs. “Sorry. Uh… see ya next week.”

The door closes with a slight snick, not loud but Dean feels like Sam slammed it shut. Dean blinks, suddenly not in the mood to deal with his own confused feelings but still a little grateful for Sam’s little lie.

Sam did it to save Dean’s reputation, to save Dean’s evening. Sam usually doesn’t care about any of that but tonight he did.

Dean’s not in the mood for Belinda anymore, wonders how he ever could be. But he won’t say a word because Sam did something there for him and Dean can still see the sad, dejected look on Sam’s face and knows, just knows, that there is so much more behind it.

It’s like Sam meant what he said, that Dean’s not his brother. Only, Dean can’t figure out if Sam meant it in the way that he wishes Dean was something different to him or if he wants Dean out of his life.

 

It’s all so very fucked and Dean has no idea how to even deal with it all.

The evening turns into a disaster after Sam’s gone. Dean’s so on edge that Belinda gets all snippy when he doesn’t return her advances. He’s so not in the mood and she finally, finally realizes it. After some choice words, she actually flounces out of the house and slams the door. It has less of an impact than the almost silent way Sam left.

The four beers left in the fridge are Dean’s. So is the bourbon that Dean hides under his bed. Feels like the right occasion for it now.

He’s on the way to being really drunk when he stumbles into Sam’s room and face-plants on the neatly made bed. It actually hurt when Sam said those words, said he wasn’t Dean’s brother.

But at the same time Dean wished it was true. That thought alone is enough for the tears to slip out and, for the first time in years, Dean doesn’t even try to hold them back. No one’s there to see him anyway.

He sobs into the pillow, takes in the smell of cheap lemon shampoo and soap and Sam. Dean wants his brother back, his best friend. He also wants to be closer to Sam than any convention would allow and he doesn’t know what to do about it anymore.

Dean doesn’t know how long he lies there and breathes in. It smells like Sam, like home, like the life he used to know for so long. His fingers slide over soft fabric, glide along the edges of the lumpy mattress and finally find their way under the pillow.

There’s something hard with edges and made out of metal. Dean first thinks it’s a knife and has the mind to be proud of Sam but then something feels wrong. He grabs onto the thing and pulls it from under the pillow.

Shiny and black, small, four tiny wheels. Dean blinks, he can barely see in the dim light of the TV that’s coming in through the open door. He hasn’t seen the toy in years, thought it got lost along the way, left behind in one of the many places they stayed. But here it is.

The sight of it makes his chest hurt so much that he curls up on the bed and has to take deep breaths. The toy car is a reminder of what they don’t seem to have anymore. It screams ‘best friends forever’ and Dean can’t really fathom why it makes him ache that much.

He must have fallen asleep with the toy clutched in his hand because the next thing he knows, Sam’s there. He’s kneeling next to the bed, hand on Dean’s shoulder and a funny look on his face. Dean notices through the open door that the TV is off and only the bedside lamp is providing any kind of light. It tints Sam in some kind of halo, making Dean reach out and tug the loose, soft strands of hair out of Sam’s face.

There’s a soft noise, like a sigh, Dean’s not sure who made it. But he feels it vibrating through his body, settling something that has been on edge for way too long. Sam lets him touch, moves onto the bed after a while so that they are plastered together, lying on their sides, looking with tired eyes – gritty and crusted in Dean’s case – but not saying a single word.

The Impala is clutched between them, still in Dean’s hand but with Sam’s over it now.

“You’ll always be my brother, Dean. Always. And I want it that way. But… but maybe some day…” Sam’s doesn’t finish, doesn’t have to. He looks lost there for a while and Dean’s fascinated by the shadows the dim light casts on his brother’s skin. Right then, there is no need for any more words.

They understand each other just fine without any and Dean’s so glad to realize that they haven’t lost this between them. He falls asleep with the knowledge that Sam’s still here, that Sam’s his brother and his best friend and that they’ll work it out.

For now, Dean’s sure it will stay like that for a while longer. He’ll pretend that things won’t change.

 

++++

The dawn of something new – almost summer of 2001

 

It’s good for a while, a few years even. They are close again, best friends, brothers. They pretend often enough not to be either. Sometimes it’s easy, just pretending, not knowing each other. It’s okay most of the times.

As long as it doesn’t hit too close to home.

It’s Dean’s fault when pretending changes into something else entirely. Sam’s his entire world, he’ll do anything, everything to keep him safe, to protect him. Sam’s the little brother, the best friend, and in the end, the only one Dean wants.

This case is nothing like Dean had anticipated. Sam isn’t even supposed to be here, busy with finals, preparing for college – not that Dean officially knows this, only he does and it tells a lot that Sam hasn’t said a word yet. But Sam is here, instead of Dad, and for a second Dean is way too happy about it.

“I’m sorry, sir… but could you repeat that?” The receptionist is blinking at them, unbelieving and somewhat suspicious as well. Dean feels for him. Really, he does. But then, it was him who opened his mouth and now he has to get them out of this situation again.

It’s a lovely little Bed & Breakfast in the middle of nowhere. Dad had said there’s a vengeful spirit here before he went off to hunt something bigger, better. The receptionist currently staring at them seems to be about sixteen, pimple-faced and dyed, greasy hair hanging into his eyes. Maybe he’s the grandson of the owner, who’s introduced herself briefly and vanished to prepare breakfast for the next day.

“We don’t need two queens,” Dean repeats, tries to grin and hopes to hell that it’s not a grimace that scares the guy even more than they already seem to. So he smooth’s it into a smile, shrugs and plays it as innocent as he can.

“Just read that we’d be welcome here, ya know? Kinda got word that we wouldn’t have to hide here. Just for the weekend.” Dean shrugs again, doesn’t dare to look at Sam and tries not to be too aware of the heat at his side. It’s Friday night and it must suck for the guy having to work here, but right now Dean’s not really feeling any kind of compassion.

The guy blinks again but his features have softened a bit, as if he knows what Dean’s talking about, which Dean’s counting on.

“Oh. Yeah… But… he said brothers when he came in.” The guy nods at Sam, looks a little sheepish and tries for a shy smile. It would work if Dean wasn’t so damn terrified of his own words and courage.

“Well, you know how it is. Always try for cover first. I haven’t told him that this place would be safe.”

The guy nods now, smiles wider and checks them in without any further questions. Dean tries not to blush too hard when he grabs the key and the guy tells them it’ll be a California king size. Sam’s suspiciously silent through it all and Dean knows he’ll hear all about once they are in private. He’s not really looking forward to it.

They walk up the stairs, Dean on the lookout for room 24 and Sam silently staring holes into Dean’s back. The key is digging into the skin of his palm but Dean can’t let loose, it’s like a lifeline and he needs to hold on. He has no idea what just happened, why he opened his mouth and said exactly what he said.

One bed, no matter how big, is not really a good idea considering how things are between them. There’s tension, has been for years, and it’s growing. Trying to keep a distance proves to be almost too difficult these days.

Sam’s always there, always taunting, with words and touches, with looks and unintentional gestures. Signals get crossed all the time and they end up fighting more often than not. It’s been like this ever since that spring night years ago. Neither of them knowing what to do, how to deal. Neither doing anything in the end.

They are brothers, still. Best friends most of the time. But there’s so much more between them now and Dean can’t describe it. He just knows that what he wants from Sam is something he’ll never have. Playing pretend might be the only way to get it and Dean’s beyond feeling guilty about it. Sam will be gone soon and maybe, maybe Dean will be able to think straight again.

The hit on the back of his head is more surprise than actually hurt, Dean protests anyway.

“What?”

Sam’s in the room as soon as Dean has the door open, stops just for a second to glare at the monstrous four-poster in the middle of it and then just throws his duffel on the comfy looking armchair right next to the bed.

“Dude... That… that has to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever gotten us into. I mean, really? You are aware of the fact that they’ll watch us, right? And you can’t do couple-ly if it bit you in the ass,” Sam huffs and Dean’s actually waiting for the foot stomp and the failing arms. He’s vaguely disappointed when it doesn’t happen.

“It’s not that bad, Sammy. Come on, it’s not the first time we have to pretend things like that.”

And it’s really not.

They once crashed a prom, going together, hand in hand, to give Dad time to torch and flog the Demi-God trying to eat half the kids for dinner. They had shocked the community quite a bit. They were gone the next morning but Dean thinks that was probably the most fun prom he’d been to.

“No. It’s just weird… coming from you and all. And really, how are we supposed to play this anyway?”

Sam has a point there, only Dean’s not going to acknowledge it. He’s never been the one to come up with ideas like this one. It was just there, in his head, after he’d read the brochure Sam almost threw at him on the way here. So it’s actually all Sam’s fault.

But anyway, it won’t be that hard and he tells Sam that much. There’s a huff in response and then Sam is taking inventory, so Dean does the same. It’s weird, this tension between them. But Dean’s used to it by now.

The room looks comfy, it’s a little on the frilly side and the bathroom has a tub. It even looks big enough to hold Sam and Dean’s about to say something about Sam maybe taking a hot bath and getting rid of the PMS when there’s a loud thud behind him.

Sam is just standing there, in the middle of the room, not moving an inch. The duffle is at his feet now, things spilling out and Dean frowns. Sam’s chest is moving slow, shallow almost, and he’s staring at something to Dean’s left. There isn’t anything. Just a plain, blank wall and nothing else. Sam doesn’t even blink.

It worries Dean more than it should and he’s right next to Sam a second later.

“Sammy?”

Sam nods, shows Dean that he’s still there but doesn’t stop staring at the point where one flowery wall meets the window.

“This place is weird, Dean. There was just… uh… a naked guy,” Sam says, as if in a trance and then turns to frown at Dean.

“Okay. Guess now we know it’s really haunted. Naked guy? Well, things are never not interesting when it’s ghosts.”

Sam snorts, a little inelegantly but there’s a small grin as well.

Then he shakes his head and goes back to sorting through his duffel. Sam has always tried to make rooms homey, so unpacking is one of his mechanisms to cope.

Sam being busy gives Dean a minute to just look. He does that a lot lately, just takes in the changes and the things that are still all Sam. His little brother is taller than him now and Dean’s not quite over that yet. He’s lanky, all arms and legs, with a twitchy kind of energy to it. Growing pains had been awful, though the result is rather nice to look at.

Dean just looks to have something to keep close, to remember Sam by. There are a lot of things that could do that, but Dean wants recent things to be there as well, no matter how pathetic it makes him feel.

He has to shake himself, has to busy himself with getting out his guns and checking them over. Looking at Sam for too long is never good. Dean’s surprisingly unafraid of getting caught. It’s a recent change in dynamics. He knows Sam’s looking back as well. Took them years to find that common ground again.

“A naked guy, huh? Wanna tell me something, Sammy?”

“It’s Sam. And no. You know what you need to know.” It comes out a little more annoyed than Dean was expecting, but when he looks at Sam though, everything seems to be back to the normal level of bitchiness.

“Who pissed in your coffee this morning?” It might be that Dean is getting a little annoyed himself. Sam’s attitude is a pain in the ass sometimes and Dean usually feels transported back into Sam’s worst teenage years.

“Dude! You told him we are lovers. That’s just not… that’s… freaky, okay? I didn’t expect it to come from you… and there was just a naked ghost in our room. Excuse me for finding that weird.”

When put that way Dean has to agree, it does sound weird. He shrugs. There isn’t anything he can do about that now.

“Let’s go and take a look around. I wanna see what’s up here and maybe find some useful information.”

They leave the room, agree to separate and search the house from bottom to roof. They never get that far though.

Just when Sam’s about to say something, the air around them grows icy cold, fogging up their breaths and making Dean turn around. There’s nothing there. Flickering lights and doors banging in the distance are the only indication that something’s amiss.

Dean feels it on his skin, hairs standing up and he’s reaching for Sam, wanting to pull him back into their room. He’s too late.

Sam yelps a second later and Dean sees him flying a good ten feet through the air, crashing against the stair’s banister. It doesn’t look good. Heart pounding, eyes wild and checking, Dean takes a step towards his brother.

“Sam!”

“’M good.” There’s a weak groan but Sam is standing again, looking carefully around and shaking his head when Dean raises an eyebrow. Nothing there. Not even a glimpse of what’s haunting this house. He checks Sam over, first with his eyes and then with his hands, is surprised when Sam holds still. Just bruises, he thinks, and silently sighs in relief.

“Damn. I think someone’s pissed we are here.”

“You think?” Sam’s rubbing his elbow but stays close to Dean now. He acts on impulse then, does something he hasn’t done in a while. He pulls Sam into a hug. A brief one, but still, a hug.

They don’t do this much anymore.

“Sweet, the two of you,” comes from behind them. They don’t exactly jump apart but Dean’s amused how spooked Sam looks, it’s not like he’s feeling any better, but Sam’s embarrassment is way more entertaining.

The owner of the B&B is standing right there, sweet smile on her face and understanding in her eyes. Dean’s not sure he believes it all but something about her puts him at ease. So he smiles back, pulls Sam closer and guides him back into their room.

“Research?”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam answers, sounding a little dazed and Dean only barely manages to hide a smirk. This case will be interesting.

“Just one weekend, Sammy. That’s all. Just have to pretend for one weekend.”

Sam settles down onto the big bed. It’s a sight Dean never thought he’d see like this. His brother is kind of beautiful, on display like that and looking unconcerned. Dean, though, knows Sam’s anything but.

“You sure about that?”

This is not about the case anymore. Sam opens his notebook, starts reading over print-outs and never once looks up at Dean. This question is so loaded, so important and Dean doesn’t have an answer. Has been looking for one for years and hasn’t found it yet.

\---

 

Research goes surprisingly well. They don’t complain.

Dean should be concerned about how easily he slips into the role of doting partner when Sam’s blushing every time they so much as get a look on the street. It’s kinda cute to watch but Dean would rather face a ghoul than admit that out loud. And, it gives him chances to watch Sam some more.

In the end, it’s Sam who figures out that the town and B&B haven’t always been this open and liberal about people’s ‘lifestyles’.

One close-minded guy was seemingly enough to unsettle a whole village. Hate crimes are always the ones that come back to bite people in the ass. Dean says as much and has Sam laughing for the first time in a while.

The connection to the B&B is harder to find.

After one uncomfortable night, where both of them lie rigid half the time and plastered together the rest of the night, they spend one whole day with their noses in books and copies and their eyes clued to very slow websites on a very old computer in the town library.

Dean shivers every time he thinks back to the night, the way Sam was clinging to him and how Dean just held on, unmoving, afraid he’d destroy this rare chance. Sam ducks his head every time Dean so much as glances his way.

It takes them almost the whole Saturday and three more encounters with the naked guy in their room until Dean is the one to read the right newspaper article. Sam had resorted to going through the archives, thankfully online and printable.

Sometimes it’s good to have a full on geek as a brother.

“Got it.” Dean grins.

Sam’s again sprawled out on the bed and presenting a view that Dean finds hard to resist. Lanky form, floppy hair in his eyes, and slightly amused look on his face. Sam knows how he looks, Dean’s sure of it. They have been playing this game for years now, dancing without ever touching, taunting and teasing without ever going through with it. Sometimes Dean thinks it’s just his mind playing tricks but sometimes Sam’s so close, so forceful that Dean knows there is something.

“So?” Sam asks.

“Well, turns out, Lydia’s brother batted for the other team.”

“Lydia?”

“Oh right, the owner. Lovely little lady that thinks we’re sweet?”

Sam nods, doesn’t comment and motions for Dean to go on. It’s still so very easy to rile Sam up sometimes.

“Right. So her brother had a secret affair with one of the Sherriff’s guys. He was found dead, gunned down by our very nice suspect. The Deputy wasn’t found, presumed missing, said to have fled the scene.”

“And the scene was where?” Sam’s on the right track, always thinking about the details.

“Right here, Sammy. This lovely B&B was the scene. They got caught in the act, so to speak. Troy was gunned down here, Michael vanished and the shooter, Thomas McClean, was arrested on site. They never found Michael.”

“Guess, that’s what we have to do now, huh. And I presume right when I think ‘here’ means the B&B as well as this room?” Sam doesn’t look too amused now, rather sad and a little anxious.

“Yep. Naked guy is Michael, I think. Search the room?”

They did that before, found nothing suspicious, but a drywall that doesn’t seem to belong in the room. Dean frowns, looks at the wall in question and then back at the article he’s been reading.

“Sammy?”

“Hmm?”

“McLean was a contractor, working on rebuilding the rooms back then.” Dean’s scratching the back of his neck, feeling slightly bad about what comes next and he can see Sam frowning even more. They should have probably seen that connection way sooner.

“The wall?”

“The one and only.”

They don’t lose time then, don’t even think about asking Lydia for permission. They know she knows what’s going on, having asked subtle questions and being told that many have tried to get rid of the haunting and never managed.

Dean’s halfway through the plaster, can see the hollow space behind it when he realizes that Sam’s not at his side anymore.

“A little help would be nice, Sammy.”

There’s no answer, not a single word or sound from his brother. Dean turns, comes face to face with a very flushed looking Sam and only has a second to realize how close they are.

Then soft lips are on his. Hands under his shirt, on skin and holding on.

Dean’s too shocked to react, clenches his hands at his sides instead of shoving Sam away.

Lips, hot as hell, demand response, get it a second later when Dean can’t hold back anymore and opens up. They kiss, for the first time ever, and it’s very different from anything Dean’s ever dared to dream of. Way different and maybe not right.

Sam’s demanding, on him and towering. It’s hot and intimidating at the same time. Dean secretly likes it. Lips go wandering then. Sam’s hands are on his shoulders and for a minute or two, Dean lets it happen. He takes what he can get.

But then, Dean comes back to himself. This is not Sam, can’t be, not like this. So Dean moves, shoves Sam a little and almost moans when way too soft lips detach from his throat. He pulls Sam far enough away to be able to look at him. Eyes wide, pupils dilated and cheeks flushed an almost unhealthy red, Sam’s panting and staring back at him.

“Sammy… what?”

“Dunno… had to. Felt like I needed to. I’m sorry. God… Dean, I’m so sorry. I never… it should have never happened.”

There’s a push from behind bringing them closer together again and Dean suddenly has a vague idea what’s going on. He never really thought about if ghosts could possess, take over bodies but maybe they can and do.

“Sam. Sam! Calm down, it’s okay.” Dean doesn’t really know what to say here, how to calm Sam down. His brother’s practically frantic now.

“I… I don’t know how I could… I don’t know.”

“It was Michael, Sam. Gonna have to salt and burn him. You up for it?”

It’s not a good way to deal with everything but it’s the Winchester way. Deal with the most pressing matter – the ghost - now and with everything else – Sam – later. Dean doesn’t like it but before anything else happens, he really wants that ghost torched and gone.

Lips tingling, Sam’s taste still on his tongue, Dean starts digging again, faster, more furious. Sam’s right beside him, silent and brooding. It’s not ideal but it’ll get the job done.

The corpse is hidden in one of the corners between the new drywall and the old brick stone wall, wrapped in bed sheets and bound with rope. The head’s laying free though, gun hole visible and gaping. It’s a cruel sight and Sam turns away for a second, breathes deep before he helps Dean get Michael from his grave.

They get him down and out into the backyard without anybody seeing them. It’s dark now, chances of discovery a little lower and they make it out into the woods without any incidents.

“Lucky that the B&B has its own forest as a backyard, huh?” Dean tries, just to say something into the oppressing silence. It doesn’t work because Sam only nods, helps shoveling the grave and never says a word, never looks at Dean either.

\-----

 

Dean grimaces at the smell in the car. Torching bones, corpses really, is never a clean thing but this time it seems even dirtier than usual. His fingers are sticky around the steering wheel, his clothes cling to his body and he feels the sweat tickling down his back.

It’s not a warm night but Dean feels flushed all over. Flashes of Sam’s lips on his, tongues battling for a second, come back unbidden. His mind is blank otherwise, no words there to say, no feelings to suppress. Nothing is there right now, as if his mind’s gone into shock as well. His body is only reacting now.

“Sorry,” is mumbled, almost inaudible but it does what Sam’s presence alone couldn’t, it snaps Dean right back into the present.

“It’s okay, Sammy. It wasn’t you.” The alibi sentence, the way out for Sam. They’ll forget it after that and Dean will never ever wish it wasn’t so. Can’t hope, shouldn’t do so anyway.

“I… wanted it, though. It was – is all there. Has been for a while… and you… you know it.”

And Dean does. He knows. He just never allowed it to be acknowledged. No words still, so he nods, knows Sam will be able to interpret.

“Don’t… not the brothers argument. We’re beyond that. Our lives aren’t anywhere near normal. Just not that argument.”

Dean nods again because he knows any words here would be useless. He can’t argue with Sam about it. There are no arguments he could use that wouldn’t make him feel like the biggest liar in the world.

There’s only darkness now, headlights not giving much away. It’s like the inside of Dean’s mind. It’s a scary picture.

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, Sam. I said it’s okay.” And somehow it really is. It was a stupid idea in the first place and, of course, the ghost had to latch on to the unresolved tension between them. It’s nobody’s fault.

“Still wanted it,” Sam, almost petulantly, says.  
He turns around to dig through the basket in the backseat, courtesy of Lydia, who thanked them a thousand times and insisted on giving them something for the road. Its cookies and tea, so very made for Sam. Lydia had handed them over with a wink and a very not so subtle remark about aphrodisiacs in teas. Sam’s blush had taken an hour to recede.

“Yeah… I know. I…” Dean’s not sure what to say now, how to respond. He can’t just give away secrets he’s kept locked up tight for years. Not just like that.

“One day?” Sam’s turned towards him, resigned look on his face but not rejected, a little hopeful even. It’s a good look on him, Dean thinks.

“One day. When you are back, maybe.”

Sam stiffens, stares at Dean with something close to fear and then just blinks. Dean’s hearts skips a little, it’s the one talk he’s been waiting for.

“You know.”

It’s not a question but Dean answers anyway, “Of course, I know. Saw the letter when it came. Thought you’d tell me when you’re ready. You are my brother. You’re a damn geek and you’ve been going on about college for years. I get it, Sammy. You’ll leave.”

Sam, in a move Dean doesn’t anticipate, moves closer, tentatively touches Dean and when it seems okay, settles against his side. They haven’t done that in years either. Dean misses it. Head on Dean’s shoulder, Sam nibbles on one of the cookies and then takes a deep breath.

“I… Sorry. I wanted to tell you. Just didn’t know how or when. Please, help me get it out to dad?”

Dean nods, knows they’ll face dad together, like they always do when things are important. But Dean already knows how that talk will end. He’ll help Sam anyway.

“Dean, I have to. It’s… I need to know if I can live on my own, need to find out what this is. This thing between us. I don’t want to be away from you. I just have to. I simply have to.”

And that’s it. Dean knows Sam’s right but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

“I’ll drive you. To the bus station, at least. When it’s time. Let me do that?”

“Okay. Yeah, okay. Just… yeah.”

One day. It’s the thing that keeps running circles round in his head while he floors the gas and lets the Impala fly down the road. Somewhere in the glove compartment its miniature brother rattles around, still there after all these years.

One day.

It feels like life is taking turns Dean’s never seen in his path. He feels on the edge, like maybe there’s the dawn of something new just peaking on the horizon. This time, Dean pretends that things are okay. Just for a little while. As long as it will take for Sam to pack, tell Dad and then go.

Sometimes, pretending really is the only way for Dean to have the things he wants.

 

***

 

2001 – 2005 The time in-between

 

The kiss, a real one, on the hood of the Impala is inevitable. It has to happen and Dean has to let Sam go. He watches until the tail lights of the bus vanish and only then climbs back into his own car.

His lips still tingle, feel bitten and raw, feel the way they should. Dean wants to cling to the memory, knows there won’t be another chance for a long time. It feels right this time though, but still not right enough.

Sam’s his brother, and right now that’s all he is.

Sam’s still the one Dean wants and now he can think about it without having that small hope deep inside of him stomped upon. But it’s still just in his mind. Not real. Only something he wants. For now.

If he jerks off in the shower or on lonely motel beds to the image, the feel of Sam’s lips on his, Dean never dares to think about it. He’s already too wrapped around Sam, a life that’s not his own, to care much now. Hand on his cock, fingers holding tight, mouth open and Sam’s name on his lips. He allows this in the darkness of the room, far away from everything and everyone that matters.

Dean’s lost for a while, four years to be exact, but he always knows where Sam is.

The next time he sees Sam, and actually talks to him, it’s in the middle of Sam’s living room with the gorgeous girlfriend watching them. The twist in Dean’s chest, the feeling of hurt and loss, it’s all there, for a second, maybe two.

Then Dean grins and is the big brother he needs to be right then.

+++++

2010/2011 - The Winter of Revelations

 

Dean’s just gotten Sam back, soul and all.

They are both drained, emotionally, physically. Just about to reach the end of their ropes and ready to let it all go to hell. Only, they never do. They fight on, hunt, resist temptation in its many forms.

Jess, as an interlude, doesn’t stand between them anymore, hasn’t for years. Simply because Sam, in a drunken attempt of making things right again a few years ago, told Dean how it was. How Jess was there, listened and made him feel good. Told him that Jess was never meant to be anything more and ended up being Sam’s anchor to ‘normal’.

Then Sam, sloppy and uncoordinated, kissed him deeply and fell asleep on Dean.

They never speak about it and Dean sometimes wonders if Sam even remembers. Now they are ‘them’ again. Back to the usual ways.

It’s a cold night, dark, no moon and barely any stars visible through the clouds. Snow’s on the ground, not much but enough to let the cold seep through jeans and hoodies. Dean’s never liked stake-outs in winter.

It’s not perfect for a hunt but it should do. If they don’t get it done tonight they’ll have to wait another month and Dean isn’t sure he can do that. He’s cold and tired and on the edge, always watching Sam for signs that the wall is crumpling… a noise next to him makes him snap his head so hard that he hisses at the pain.

Lying cramped in one position for hours in the cold isn’t that much fun anymore. He’s getting too old for it, longs for a hot shower, a warm bed and a good cup of coffee. Sam’s not any better, moving restlessly, trying to warm up his cramped muscles.

Dean can barely see him in the dark but just Sam’s head poking out from behind the bushes is enough to settle him somewhat. He never wants to let Sam out of his sight again. Never. Not for angels or demons or the apocalypse.

They’ve been researching for a month now, pretty sure that it’s a were and more than half sure it’s a wolf. There are some details not connecting but they can’t wait any longer. People are dying, are maybe even turned, and neither of them wants that to go on for another cycle.

Dean’s been worrying about Sam, can’t not after everything. He curses the day they started to deal with angels and their shit. There’s nothing they can do about it now but it brought them here, and Dean has a feeling that it’s not all over and done yet. It probably never will be.

He tries to concentrate on the hunt, on making sure they are good to go and can handle it.

Turns out they are very, very wrong about the whole thing.

The thing, the Were, isn’t alone. Something Dean should have known, should have anticipated. Sometimes there are packs. Why he hadn’t thought that before, makes him frown. He just didn’t and it’s going to kick them in the ass now.

Sam shouts a warning, just in time and then he’s gone. Dean yells but can’t do much else, concentrating on the creatures rushing in on him, through the trees and just about visible in the darkness of the night.

There are about four of them, maybe even five, Dean’s not sure. They’re the ones being hunted now and Dean really doesn’t like it. But he’s outnumbered, can’t get to Sam, so he does the only thing he knows is right.

He runs.

Barely aware of where he’s going, he hears Sam do the same.

He’s crashing through the under wood, trying not to get tangled in roots and branches, doesn’t care about the noise he’s making. It’s too late for that anyway. It’s also too dark to properly see and Dean curses the clouds and himself for thinking they could do it all on their own. Should have called Bobby.

Then Sam shouts something that sounds like ‘get down’ and Dean does, crashes through branches slapping back, catching him in the face and on the arms. He’s flat on the ground, groans when he nicks at the skin of his neck and knows Sam’s torching them.

“Silver, Dean. Works. Use the gun.”

That’s, at least, some good news. Dean gets up, turns in one move and just barely gets the gun up before the thing is on him. He shoots it once, twice and then just hopes it’s enough. The second one is easier to bring down but it gets too close as well. Dean feels skin tearing and breaking, feels blood already running down his face.

Then he stumbles, flies out of the woods and down the street, knows the Impala is parked somewhere close to the diner, its blinking neon sign is something Dean can just barely see in the distance. He doesn’t pause, just continues sprinting, feeling the hot breath of something on his neck and then feels the searing hot pain on his side.

Sam’s right next to him, grabbing on, dragging Dean and cursing under his breath.

“Got them?”

“Yeah. All.” Sam’s panting hard. Letting go so that he can grab the bag Dean has dropped.

Dean stumbles now more than he runs, reaches the car just before his knees give out. Hot blood is seeping through his clothes, hands scratched open when he tries to heave himself up from the gravelled ground. Stones dig into bruised skin and Dean feels the blackness crawling in on him.

It’s hard to breathe, hard to think. All he knows is that they need to get away from here.  
Then Sam’s there, at his side, arms under him again and helping.

“Come on, let’s get out of here. I know a place.”

Dean’s not in the right mind to ask, to question what Sam means, and lets himself be dragged up, shoved almost gently into the passenger seat and hands the keys over without protest.

Dean knows he shouldn’t be driving and for once in his life he lets Sam be the get away driver. Okay, so not the first time but he feels like it has been ages. The Impala roaring to life beneath him is a relief, so is the sight of the crossroads that leads them away from the parking lot.

Dean’s barely coherent through the drive, doesn’t know where they are going and doesn’t feel like asking. He trusts Sam to keep them safe, has for a while again.

Sam wakes him up after a while, gets him out of the car and to a front door that looks rather normal.

“Where?”

“A friend’s place. He’s a doctor. And you need one.”

It’s all Dean needs to know for now. Sam sounds sure and not scared, worried but not panicky, so things are okay. The pain is just a side effect, Dean’s more numb than anything.

Lights are turned on, a door is opened and Dean is still awake enough to hear the gasps of surprise. A guy, maybe Sam’s age, sleepy looking and of average height, stands there, staring, gaping even.

“Sam? Sam Winchester?”

It sounds like the guy at the door is seeing a ghost. Maybe he thinks he is, Dean muses.

“Hi, Marcus. I’m really sorry… but we were attacked on a hunt. He needs help. I’m sorry, I could bring him to a clinic.” Sam’s rambling now and Dean isn’t sure if it’s because of him or because of guy.

“God, Sam. No, come on in then. We’ll get him patched up.”

Sam moves and Dean stumbles, forward again and groans out in pain. The blood has stopped tickling down his face but he can still feel it sticky on his skin. He’s not sure about the wound at his side, it feels hot and sticky but he can’t tell if it stopped bleeding or not.

He tries to walk on his own, keep his dignity intact but it’s not really working out so well. He stumbles again, almost takes out a table in the hallway and smears blood all over the place.

“Dammit, Dean.” There is fear, worry, some fondness and a lot of exasperation. It sounds like Sam and like home. Dean grins a little, sheepish and glad he made it this far. Then he promptly passes out when he feels strong arms come around him again.

\---

 

The room he wakes up in feels less like a hospital room than he anticipated. Then he realises it’s not a hospital room he’s in but rather one that looks like a guest room.

There are voices but he can’t see anyone. The room’s dark, curtains closed and only some light from the street filters through. The door’s cracked open a little though and a small stripe of light falls on the floor.

The bed smells like lemon shampoo, cheap soap, and Sam. Dean burrows further into it and feels Sam’s hoodie underneath his cheek. He wonders what that’s about and then groans when vague images of him sort of clinging to the hoodie spring back into his mind.

He wriggles around a little more but can’t get back to sleep. Everything hurts. Everything that isn’t numb. He feels for the crusted blood he knows must be there and is surprised when it isn’t.

Sam must’ve cleaned him up, had his side and ribs bandaged, judging from the feel of it. Dean doesn’t know why he’s surprised about it. The urge to get up and see Sam is strong, makes him move without realizing it. He needs to check if Sam’s okay, the guy has the tendency to say he’s fine and then walks around with broken bones for days.

Only when he tries to move his legs does Dean feel his body protesting. He swings his legs carefully over the edge of the mattress and has to sit there for several minutes, taking deep breaths and letting the pain wash over him. He prays for no one to come in and see him like this. He’s in luck and feels less embarrassed as he curses up a blue streak when his toe meets the bedpost.

He instinctively follows the voices, stops in the hallway when he needs to take a breather. He stays there for some reason and just listens. It’s not like him to actively eavesdrop but Dean will claim feverish hallucinations as an excuse. He needs to hear Sam right now.

It sounds like the conversation just started, comments about years gone by and how life has been. It’s all very generic and kinda boring, nothing to stay around for. Until it gets interesting.

“So, that’s Dean, huh?”

Dean grins at the tone, knows whoever it is, is very curious.

“Yeah.” Sam sounds tired, worried. And Dean doesn’t even think about the fact that he can hear it all in just one word. It’s always been like that, no matter how long and how far they’ve been apart.

“The Dean?”

“Dammit, Marcus. Yes, the Dean. Could we not?” It sounds resigned, as if Sam knows that this Marcus guy won’t stop asking. Dean’s curious now as well, inches his way closer to the kitchen where Sam and Marcus are, carefully stepping around boots and his duffle on the floor.

Sam must have gone out to the car, gotten their things and salt, since there’s enough to keep an army of demons out on the window sill right by the door. Dean feels the sutures now, feels dizzy with the knowledge that he didn’t even wake for the stitches. Those things must have really done a number on him. It explains the worry that’s still so clear in Sam’s voice.

“Oh, I don’t know Sammy…” Dean scowls at the use of the nickname and then realises that it was said mockingly, like maybe Sam has not allowed anyone to use it and Dean just did in front of whoever that Marcus is.

“Marcus,” Sam sighs.

“Sam. That’s the guy you only ever talked about when you were drunk or having interesting dreams. You never mentioned how you knew him and what happened between you. And now you show up here with him, bloody and beaten. Of course, I want to know more. Who is he?”

Dean almost holds his breath, wants to know the answer.

“He’s… just… he’s. My past.”

It hurts. More than the stitches and bruises on his body.

Just one wrong twist and Dean’s ready to go down on his knees. Pain, hot and pierce, races through his body and he groans. Loud and maybe a little desperate.

“Dean. God. Come on, let’s get you back to bed.” Sam’s there, strong hands on Dean’s feverish skin, holding him up and guiding.

“Sammy?” There is a question Dean doesn’t know how to ask but Sam seems to see it, to hear it. Who’s Dean. It’s loud and clear in the silence of the room. Dean can see Marcus hovering in the kitchen door but doesn’t care. Things have been in limbo for too long already. Dean’s kinda tired of it.

“Dean. My Dean. Family. Past, present, future.” It’s said in the same voice Sam always used as a kid to emphasize what was true for him and what would always be just that, truth. Dean lets himself be pushed back onto the bed. It’s not settled yet but okay. Dean’s in too much pain anyway.

Dean’s out like a light in under a second.

\----

 

The morning after is less fun than Dean thought it would be. He hurts even more, feels dizzy and slightly out of it. He feels like he’s eighty and ran a marathon with a pound of lead attached to his feet. It’s really not a nice feeling.

The sun’s already up, higher than he thought it would be. It tells him a lot about how out of it he really was. Dean never sleeps past nine in the morning, never. It’s almost noon when he manages to grab his watch from the bedside table.

There’s also a glass of water on the table and some pills he really hopes are pain meds. He swallows all three of them and downs the water in one go. He coughs slightly when it goes down too fast and sighs when he lets himself flop back onto the bed. Eyes closed, Dean contemplates going back to sleep.

Someone’s standing in the door way, watching him. He’s not sure he wants to talk right now. But then a move, a shuffle and he knows it isn’t Sam. Marcus then.

Dean makes sure to tilt his head slightly so that he can see him better. He stands there, arms crossed and watches Dean with alert eyes, curious. Dean wonders what that’s about but knows now’s not the time to ask.

“Hi,” he says instead.

“Sorry. I tend to look after my patients every so often. It’s a habit. I know Sam said you’re fine but I rather check for myself. I’m Marcus, used to be Sam’s roommate the first two years, and his best friend, at Stanford.”

His voice is steady and professional, and yet, Dean can still detect the underlying curiosity like it’s a blinking light. It’s jovial and friendly but cautious and Dean can understand why. It’s not every day that your best friend from college, whom you haven’t seen in years, drops by with a heavily injured man hanging from his arm.

“Dean,” he answers. This is kind of awkward.

“Yeah. Nice to finally meet you. “

Dean nods, unsure what to say next. Then Marcus moves, checks Dean’s pulse and visible cuts. When he seems satisfied, he steps back and looks at Dean again.

“Nice car.”

Dean blinks, because that is a little bit out of nowhere, then shrugs and waits for Marcus to go on.

“Sam used to have a miniature one on his desk. Fiddled with it when he was on the phone, sometimes even slept with it. I always pretended not to notice. Guess the big one out there explains a lot now.”

Dean just looks on, doesn’t say a word. The words slowly process and the smile he can feel on his lips finally slips free. It seems to be some sign for Marcus because he relaxes gradually and looks at Dean a lot less suspiciously now.

“Sam never talked much about you, only when I caught him on the phone or when he was drunk and couldn’t stop blabbing about how much he misses you.” Marcus shrugs, seemingly not really all that sorry that he’s telling on Sam’s secrets. Because Dean’s pretty sure Sam doesn’t want him to know all that.

And Dean’s right about that.

“Marcus.” It’s said in such an exasperated tone that Dean actually snorts and then winces when it pulls on his stitches. When he looks up at Sam, there’s a small smile on his lips though. Dean grins back.

“Missed me, huh?” Dean feels smug, happy even. Deep down he knows that Sam missed him during those four years but hearing it, knowing it’s true, is so much better.

“’Course,” Sam says and sounds all but five and it makes Dean grin even wider. “How are you feeling?”

“Now, that’s a loaded question. Truth or the Winchester-way?” Dean sees Marcus frown, first at Sam and then at him, wonders if he just said the wrong thing. But Sam doesn’t seem to think so. He moves fully into the room, walks around Marcus and sits down on the edge of the bed.

“Truth, or otherwise I’ll look for myself.” Hazel eyes look honestly worried and so much like Sam that Dean just shrugs a little self-consciously.

“It’s okay. Cracked ribs, I guess.” Dean shrugs again, not sure how to go. Looks at Marcus and gets a nod. “Everything else hurts like a bitch, though.”

Sam’s hand follows the lines of the bandages, making sure that everything sits right and hasn’t moved. Dean tries not to shiver when Sam goes over to stroke along the bruises on Dean’s arms. This is way more intimate than anything they’ve ever done in a while.

Something is up or Dean has finally cracked and is imagining things again.

“Oh, I can imagine. You look like a punching bag, all black and blue. Next time, lets research a little more thoroughly, huh. Can’t let shifters slip away.” Sam’s fingers on his skin are so distracting that it takes Dean a second to realize what Sam just asked and that Marcus is still in the room, looking more curious than anything.

“Uhm… what?”

“He knows, Dean,” Sam says, shyly and a little hesitant, as if he thinks Dean will blow up at that.

“Seriously? Dude.”

“Had to tell him after I saved him and his girlfriend from a vengeful spirit. He thinks it’s cool. But then he doesn’t know how we grew up.” This time it’s Sam who shrugs, one hand still on Dean’s arm.

“So, you grew up together? That’s a fact I didn’t know.” Marcus smiles like he means it and Dean has no idea how to take it.

Sam smiles back.

“Yeah, I’ve known Dean for a long time. Practically my whole life.”

Dean looks at his brother and doesn’t say a word.

Marcus excuses himself, apparently senses that Sam and Dean need to talk and closes the door silently.

“Don’t look at me like that, Dean. I didn’t tell him we are brothers. Not in college and not now.”

“And why’s that?” Dean’s curious, wants to know why Sam felt the need to omit that, to pretend that they were something else.

“Would have been hard to explain why I had very explicit dreams about you or why I told him so many inappropriate things while being drunk.” Sam looks sheepish but not really sorry. More worried, like he maybe thinks Dean will freak out now, like maybe they aren’t on the same page here. Dean grins.

After all those years, after all the tension and denial, after the kiss they never talk about, Sam should know him better than this. They’ve been through so much, recently more than ever before. They are them now, again, and Dean’s tired of holding back.

He’s tired of denying himself, denying Sam what he so obviously wants. It’s been years since Dean realized the truth. He’s deeply and hopelessly in love with his little brother. Probably has been all his life. But for the first time in maybe ever there’s hope glimmering, hope that this thing between them might go somewhere.

They’ve changed. Their lives have basically ended and the only regret Dean has is letting Sam go the one time it really mattered. He had to, Dean knows that much. It just doesn’t mean he has to let go again. Not when Sam’s right here now.

“So he thinks I’m your… what? Boyfriend? And you’ve been pinning away for me at college? That’s lame but kinda cute. You know I’ll tease the shit out of you for that, right?”

Sam doesn’t say a word. He just looks at Dean, open and honest. And for the first time in years neither of them is hiding anything.

One day. Maybe it’s now.

 

\---

 

It takes almost a week for Dean to actually be able to walk straight and sit down on anything that’s not a bed. Everything is going well, perfect even, except that Marcus seems to think that it’s a good idea to keep trying to give them ‘alone time’. It’s just a tad awkward.

One evening, when Marcus is out to see patients, they sit on the couch in the living room, doing nothing. The TV’s on and it reminds Dean so much of that one time when they were teenagers and Sam pretended to be his student instead of his brother. Only because Dean needed to get laid so badly.

“You know… that time with Belinda? I never did anything with her.”

Sam looks at him, face carefully blank and not a single emotion visible. Dean goes on.

“I couldn’t. After you were gone, saying you weren’t my brother. I couldn’t. She flipped out on me. Was kind of spectacular.” A smirk curves on his lips and he shrugs. Doesn’t know why he’s bringing it up now.

The light from the TV casts a weird light around the room, throwing shadows and making them move ever so often. Sam sits right in the light, visible and just there.

“I was mad at you. She was just so…”

“Shallow? Yeah, I know. But back then, it’s all I could do and I tried everything to forget what was really inside of me. It was my demon to hunt down and it took me years to calm it, to settle it.”

Sam nods, as if he knows what Dean’s talking about. He looks so strong and confident in the way he just watches Dean. It’s some kind of revelation. One day. Maybe it is now. After all they’ve gone through, after all they had to endure. It made them who they are now and maybe that’s what it takes to finally settle this thing between them.

“It’s still haunting you?”

And that’s really the question. The one Dean’s been waiting for.

“Not really. No. Sam… Sammy.”

It’s all he says.

And Sam’s there, right there. Close and touching, fingers on skin and drawing Dean in, closer until they are touching, kissing. It’s soft at first, languid and testing, like they need this, need to explore to be able to go on.

When it turns frantic Dean doesn’t hold back anymore, can’t and doesn’t want to.

They stumble back into their guest room, plastered close together, not stopping, touching, kissing, whispering words that are long overdue. Dean doesn’t even protest much when Sam slams him against wall and claims his mouth in a bruising kiss. Dean’s beyond protesting now, beyond denying himself.

Dean’s thoughts aren’t anywhere close to protesting when Sam strips him out of his clothes and drags him into the bedroom. It’s not awkward at all suddenly.

His cock is heavy, hot against Sam’s skin. They writhe and lick and bite, never let go and touch where they can. Dean’s gone, so lost in them, in Sam. Fingers circling around his length, gently scratch along the skin and Dean wants to touch as well. Gets to when Sam moves just right, leaves them plastered together and they find a mutual rhythm.

It’s frantic even when it’s not. Hot and languid, slow moves and jerked hips, fingers digging into skin and mouths seeking each other. It’s less and so much more than Dean’s ever hoped for. It’s everything.

Later, curled together under the covers, sated and warm, Sam sighs and looks at Dean.

“You never asked me to stay.”

“What?”

“When I took the bus to Stanford, after the kiss, after I told you everything, you never asked me to stay. I wanted you to. I hoped you would. But maybe I had to go away to get this.”

Dean knows exactly what Sam wants to hear, pulls him closer and kisses him deeply.

“One day?”

A nod and kiss is the answer and it’s all Dean needs.

Pretending isn’t so much pretending anymore.

 

***

 

2011 and on to the future

 

Damn the angels. And the demons along with them. Dean’s had enough of them to last a lifetime and right now he really, really doesn’t want to hear how he and Sam are needed in a grand fight of Good versus Evil.

He really, really has had enough of it all. He’s gone to Hell, has seen his brother die twice, once to escape Fate and once to save the world. He almost lost Sam to demon blood and mistrust, almost gave himself up when it was all about vessels and the war. He’s dealt with a soulless Sam for the better part of half of a year and now that he finally has him back, they are supposed to fight again.

No way in Hell.

After the shifter thing, they need time off. They need to get away. And they need to be just them for a while. No pretending anymore, just them and what’s between them now. They deserve this much.

Sam’s asleep next to him, the Impala rumbling beneath them. The highway’s stretched in front of them and there is not destination, no place they have to be. Dean’s determined to ignore any and every call he gets. He needs time with Sam and he’ll take it.

He has no real idea where they are but when the sign for a lodge at a lake shows up, Dean doesn’t even have to think about. He just takes the turn and lets the car fly over asphalt until it’s just gravel and dust.

The glove compartment rattles like it hasn’t in years, candy boxes, knives, tapes, and the miniature Impala all smashed together. The toy car, saved from the depth of Sam’s duffel years ago, makes a sound in there that Dean knows belongs to the feeling of home.

Sam’s awake by the time they reach the lodge, smiles slightly when he sees it but raises his eyebrows anyway.

“Time off, Sammy. We deserve it.”

Sam actually laughs. Out loud, happy and free. It does things to Dean’s heart that no single person should be allowed to do. Only Sam. Only ever Sam.

“Awesome.”

They park in front of the reception house. It's a little thing, barely deserves the name house. But it looks friendly and Dean has hope for the lodge cabins. They deserve something better than a dingy motel after everything.

Sam goes with him, stands right by his side when they ask for a cabin by the lake. The young girl behind the counter doesn’t even blink at them, smiles even when Dean asks for a one bedroom one.

Sam actually gasps a little. It’s the first time they blatantly ignore one truth and go with the other.

“There you go. It’s number 15, right by the lake, has a nice little private beach. One bedroom and an awesome view. Hope you and your partner will like it,” she says with a smile and Dean actually believes it.

“Oh… Pretty sure we will. Come on, Sammy. Vacation time.”

The first thing Sam does when they reach their little get away place is kiss Dean on the front porch, right there in the open, for everyone to see.

The second thing he does is push Dean right into the lake, clothes and everything. And then he just jumps in himself, laughing out loud and free.

That’s the Sam Dean wants to see, wants to keep. That’s the Sam Dean simply wants.

His brother, his best friend, and his lover.

 

The End


End file.
